Far Beyond the Glaring Streetlights
by cataclysmiic
Summary: /"What're you thinkin?" His blue eyes squinted as he looked at her, as if he might be able to see into her mind if he did this. Still biting her lower lip, Monica turned to face him. Her eyebrows rose slightly and she asked, "Go somewhere with me?"/ WIP.
1. The beginning

**Dislcaimer : **Sometimes I lay awake at night and wonder what it would be like to own them, but that's just creepy and obsessive, not illegal.

**Notes : **I started this chapter fic awhile ago, and have gotten quite a bit written, but I thought I'd post up a little now to know whether or not I should keep going on it. Lets see....any other explainations...oh yes. I love Mexico and the Mexican culture and I think it's very cool that Monica is from there, so I wanted to have that be a substantial part of this. Hm...and if you've read anything else of mine you'll know I'm not fluffy or romantic, but this won't be too angsty. I hope. :) I'm trying to make it more DRR, but very subtle. Fun. Original. Good. Yep. Soo...R/R please!

Oh, and as usual, I have taken lyrics from a beautiful song as the title. Sarah McLachlan- Wait.

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**1:09 AM**

A long trail of pale smoke blew slowly from her mouth, out into the warm summer air. Chocolate brown eyes scanned the streets below with a lazy sweep. Long, practiced fingers flicked gathering ash from the tip of the cigarette, watching it flutter down, down, down...until it disappeared into the darkness.

"Hey, Monica," a familiar voice sounded behind her.

She turned and paused, then smiled. "Hey. That was quick. I was just..." she began to add, following his eyes to her arm hanging loosely on the windowsill, lit cigarette drifting snake-like clouds up into the sky. She smiled again. "...taking a break."

"I see that." He nodded matter-of-factly.

"You don't mind, do you John?" The smile wasn't wavering.

"Nah, I'll welcome the break." He replied in a half-groan as he laced his fingers together and stretched both muscular arms in front of him, making a slight cracking noise that made Monica laugh out loud in mock disgust.

After four long hours of paperwork (half that time spent pacing aimlessly around Monica Reyes's loft apartment), at least a six pack of Corona lights and a whole lot of broken pencil tips, the two FBI agents were tired and bored and frankly pissed off at every single suspect in those manila folders as if it was something personal and not just the fact that handling their photographs had resulted in many annoying paper cuts that night.

"Hey Mon, I was thinkin' we call it quits for tonight. Those things are givin' me a headache like hell...what'd you say?"

"I'll agree to that one." She wrapped her lips around the cigarette once more and sucked in, suppressing the urge to shudder as she felt the sharp, bitter sting of nicotine fill her body. It had been weeks since her last cigarette, and now here she was again...right back where she started.

..._Last one,_ she swore to herself. _Tomorrow I_ _quit._

"Those things're gonna kill you, Monica," John sighed. "I thought you gave that up."

She lifted a dark eyebrow and without moving her head looked over at him. "Me too."

"You know caner's the second leadin' cause of death in the US righ' now. I'd think about quittin' for good."

She smiled and snubbed the end out on a old Spanish styled ceramic ashtray that sat on the windowsill, blowing out slowly the smoke she still held in her mouth.

"Well I'm glad you care about me after all." Her smile was contagious, and he couldn't help but return it with one of his own.

"Man, what time is it?" He asked after a moment, glancing around the apartment for a clock.

"Either really late, or really early, depending on how you look at it."

"One fifteen." John replied after a short pause, straightening back up from bending over the couch to look at the small clock resting on the coffee table.

"Mmm...the night is still young," Monica laughed, draping her other arm over the windowsill and breathing in deeply the rich night air. "It reminds me of Mexico." Her voice gradually became slower, tainted with nostalgia. Her brown eyes sparkled with sudden mysterious electricity. She looked over at him grinning that wide grin of hers, biting her lower lip slightly.

John just grinned back and watched his partner's face transform into anxious excitement. It was always fun to guess what she might be thinking when this happened. One of his favorite past-time games. Though he usually gave in right away, preferring to hear it from her lips.

"What're you thinkin'?" His eyes squinted as he looked at her, as if perhaps he might be able to see through her and into her mind if he did this.

Still biting her lower lip, Monica withdrew her arms from the window sill and turned to face him. Her eyebrows rose slightly and she asked, "Go somewhere with me?"

**1:19 AM**

"....Now? Right now?" John Doggett asked, surprised.

She nodded, still smiling.

"Well...where? It's almost two in the mornin', Mon."

"I know. It's somewhere I haven't been in awhile. It's open through the wee hours of the morning. ...Call it a surprise, John. C'mon, tomorrow is Saturday. No work," she added enticingly with an air of persuasion.

"Well-- Monica...I -- what about --..." He seemed to be looking for some excuse, and wasn't even really sure why.

"Stop making excuses, John. You're coming!" She rolled her eyes and threw him a look that reminded him of an impatient child, one that he had seen many times before and that was unique to her, but never failed to ensure she had won the argument. He shook his head and smiled. When Monica Reyes had her mind set on something, it was like attempting to stop a raging bull when trying to prevent her pursuing it.

"Alrigh' alrigh'..." He groaned, allowing himself to be dragged away towards the door. She was laughing as she tossed him his light leather jacket, throwing a black sweater that was sitting beside the door over her shoulders even though they probably wouldn't need them.

"I don't know why I let you do this to me time after time..."

"Do what, John?"

"Turn me into a spontaneous nut like you." He was grinning.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she let out a loud, genuine Monica laugh.

"It's because you adore me, you can't spend one precious moment away from me..."

She laughed in an overly seductive manner and headed out the door. John shook his head, wondering what he was getting himself into this time, before heading out the door to catch up with her.

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Got a lot more where that came from if you liked it. Please review so I can know whether or not I should burn it! XD 


	2. Under a blackened sky

**Notes : **Many many thanks to Gothic Spook and Stefany for reviewing. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy. :) Here's a little more. Oh yes, and before it goes on it might help to know I pictured this as being set sometime after The Truth. A few months, maybe.

Enjoy!

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**1:25 AM**

Their footsteps echoed softly off the old brick buildings, some even not so old, that lined the deserted streets of D.C. The air was so velvety dense with all sorts of summer smells; rain and freshly cut grass, and quiet nighttime noises that you practically had to gulp it down.

John glanced over at Monica, whose gaze was cast upwards into the black sky. Her expression was almost unreadable, save the fact it was obvious that she was deep in thought.

"John, do you ever think that Mulder and Scully, everyone involved with the conspiracy, could be right? About this extraterrestrial life, I mean."

"All that about little green men from up there?" He jutted a finger towards the sky and let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mon. I'm not like them. I can't think like that. You know I can't."

"So that's a no?"

"I'm not sayin' I don't think about it."

"So you do?"

"Do what?"

"Think about it?"

A pause. "Yeah. All the time."

Another pause. "Me too."

She looked over with a small smile. "I mean," she began again, starting to use her hands to talk as she always did when she had a point to express, "who says there isn't a whole other world of beings out there just like us, who breathe and feel love and pain just as we do? Who can ever say for sure?"

"We haven't even figured out why _we_ feel love and pain and the things we do. Guess it'd sure be nice to know we're not alone on that, huh?" He laughed softly.

"You're not alone on that, John."

He looked over and met her eyes. For a fleeting moment he saw something inside of them that made his heart ache, and then it was gone.

**1:34 AM**

"So which comic book character did you identify with when you were a kid?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, Spiderman, Superman, the X-Men. Every kid had a comic book character hero. Who was yours?"

John laughed and looked over at his partner with a half amused, half puzzled expression. Something he had come to learn about knowing Monica these past nine years, and especially in this last year, was to just grasp whatever was closest hold on tight. She had a way of coming up with either the most ludicrous or most brilliant scenarios and ideas, which either made her seem entirely proficient or totally out of her mind.

But she also had a way of making him want to tell her things, to open up. Her eyes said something about her; that she was completely compassionate.

"I guess I liked Batman."

"And what made you relate to him more than those other hunky, Kryptonite-consuming super heroes?"

"He was a guy that everyone counted on and loved and admired. All those people in Gotham knew he'd never leave 'em, and he did whatever he could to save whoever needed savin' 'cause he was cursed. Watched his parents die when he was young. Not every kid could relate with that directly but they sure know the meaning of tragedy. Guess I liked him 'cause he had no real weaknesses, just a wounded past that never quite healed."

John looked over at his partner who was looking back, those sympathetic brown eyes melting into his, knowing what he was thinking.

He suddenly felt her warm hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

"You're like him more than you know."

She let his hand go, and they walked along in silence for a while.

"What about you?" John asked suddenly, looking over at her again.

"What about me?"

"Who did you identify with when you were a kid?"

She laughed. "Oh I don't know...I always kinda liked Rogue from the X-Men."

"What, no Catwoman? You seem like a Catwoman to me," he added, knowing now that she had started laughing, he could always get her to laugh harder. 

"No, no Catwoman. Too evil for my taste."

"What about all that tight black leather? You could pull it off nicely," he joked.

She gave his arm a playful punch and they kept walking, their laughter filling up the empty streets.

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	3. I have surrendered all of my yesterdays

**Notes : **Whooo!!! Thank you so so so so SOO much to everyone who came back and reviewed, and all the new people who did! You guys rocccckkk. And you have inspired me to update again. This is a pretty long one, and I don't have much more written after this, so it may be awhile before I update again unless I can find time to write a hell of a lot more on the story in the next few days! XD

Let's see...anything else......hmm, don't think so. This chapter is a bit different than the other two, so I hope you still like it. o.o Thanks again everyone!

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**1:52 AM**

A light sound of thunder rolled across the black sky. Monica looked out across the streets and upwards. She arched an eyebrow at John.

"Is it supposed to storm again tonight?"

"Not tonight. This morning."

"I guess it is morning, huh." She chuckled.

A raindrop fell and shattered on the sidewalk in front of her. Glancing upwards, another dropped and splashed across her nose. Soon a chorus of them started from the sky, pummeling towards the ground at a rapid pace.

Monica shrieked and glanced over at John who was busy shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his head.

"No need to answer that question, John!" She yelled above the sudden downpour, laughing.

She could barely hear whatever he called back, but was a tad surprised to feel his arm snake across her shoulders with the shelter of the jacket.

"Thanks," her gaze met his, their faces barely an inch apart, and she smiled.

"No problem Mon, now let's get the hell outta' this and into some damn trees or somethin'..."

Rain began to fill crevices in the road, slick down the buildings and trees and wash over parked cars and anything that hadn't had enough sense to keep indoors that night.

John and Monica spotted a familiar park up ahead and took shelter under a large willow tree that stood guarding the playground menacingly with its long, sinewy branches and rain-slicked leaves.

"Jesus," John panted as he chuckled a bit and ran a hand through his half-soaked hair.

"That was pretty abrupt, don't you think?" Monica said as she looked out at the green grass and trees swaying in the wind.

"Yeah, hasn't rained like this in awhile, has it?"

Monica didn't reply. Her brown eyes were wide and sparkling as she looked out at the storm. When she was a kid growing up in Mexico, rain was a big deal. Whenever it rained, she and her friends would run outside the first chance they got and play in the streets. She remembered singing, dancing, water splashing up against her bare legs as she jumped in puddles, always competing with her friends to find the biggest one. They could be outside for hours and not realize it.

The smell of a rainstorm hung in the air for days afterward. To this day it remained a favorite smell of hers. It reminded her of those carefree, less complicated times in her life.

"Hey Monica, you with me?"

She looked over into her partner's face, that sly grin of his saying he caught her mind wandering again and to come back to reality, please. She grinned back sheepishly.

"Sorry John. Hey, how long has it been since you've been on a swing set?"

He caught that grin of hers and shook his head quickly, glancing out at the playground and back.

"Oh, no you don't. I said I'd go with you to wherever the hell it is we're goin', but I never said I'd get soaking wet on a child's plaything for you."

"Suit yourself."

She flashed another would-be annoying smile, and ran out into the rain, heading for the swings.

He could hear her laughter floating across the park above the shower, and chuckled to himself. She really was a handful.

**2:11 AM**

The seat swung back and forth on its rusty hinges as Monica padded at the ground softly with her feet, covered by her now soaking wet boots. She held onto the steel chain with one hand to keep balance while the other brushed strands of dark hair away that had stuck to her face.

The rain had let up a little by now, but was still falling steadily, and the breeze still rushed through the grass and rustled the branches of the trees.

It felt good to be outside in the rain, to at least pretend to be carefree and spontaneous like a child once again. She thought of how many things had changed for her since those days she would run around in the streets with her friends, buy ice cream from vendors on the sidewalks and laugh as they played games in the schoolyard.

Nothing ever stayed simple. Leaving home and growing up had taught her that.

Her friends and family had always thought she had to have been slightly insane to have chosen a career in law enforcement. It had always been stereotyped as a good-old-boys club, and she had had her fair share of discrimination over the years. If not for being a woman, for her beliefs and openness and passion to help people. Yet she had managed to climb her way up the ladder, always trying to play hard and by their rules. Life had an ironic way of screwing her over anyway.

And then ten years ago, when she was a fresh new agent in the New York FBI field office, she had been assigned a case. Murder victim, seven year old boy. This one case, this one happens-every-day, straightforward case, had changed her life.

Monica glanced across the park to John. He was sitting with his back against the tree trunk, looking up and out at either the sky or the rain. Maybe both. Maybe he was just thinking, not really looking at anything in particular. She couldn't tell.

If she had to describe her partner in one word, it would be comfortable. He had this way about him...she'd known him for years and it had always been there, everytime she looked into his face. It was hard to describe. Sometimes when you've known someone for that long, you can't even remember how you met or what your first impression of them was. Sometimes you can. This is how it was with John. She could remember perfectly the first time they had met, the first time she got a good look into those amazing blue eyes of his. She remembered the first thing he said to her as she approached. She remembered everything about that day.

He was standing in the the doorway of his kitchen, elbow propped high on the frame and a distant look in his eyes. Yellow crime scene investigation tape was spread in a hap-hazard mess around his front yard and there were detectives and various other people bustling in and out of his house with all this high-tech equipment. The whole scene seemed so insincere and cold somehow. As if those pieces of metal could find his son, as if their operators truly cared and weren't just doing this because it was their job. Despite this, he didn't seem to take the least bit of notice to the commotion. His eyes snapped up when she stopped beside him.

"You must be Agent Reyes."

She nodded and tried a smile. She had been so young then. Young, lost, confused, eager. Misunderstood. And she truely wanted to help in any way she could. "Yes. And you're...John Doggett?"

He nodded. There was a silence.

Her eyes darted around the room to all the investigators. "I'm...I'm really sorry about—"

"—don't apologize. Please. I've had enough of that bullshit from everyone else. Just help me find him. ...Please," he added again. His voice was soft and low and regretful.

She looked back. For some reason she could feel his pain right from the start. It must have been those eyes. She nodded. "I'm going to do everything I can, John."

He returned the nod and said, "Thank you, Agent Reyes."

"Monica," She corrected him with a small smile.

"Monica." Somehow he managed a smile back, and it broke her heart. He was like a wounded puppy dog; she just wanted to bring him home and take care of him. She wanted to make that pain she saw in his eyes go away...if only for a little while.

She still did.

It was hard not to think about those brief days they spent together. On the third day, when they found him, she wasn't sure if either of them had any more tears to cry. And this, she guessed, was why their relationship had stayed intact over the years. When you share something like that with a person, when your feelings spill out to that person, you give a part of your soul to them whether you realize it or not.

She knew that John knew she cared about him so much. That she _loved_ him. He just never returned that love in the way she had wanted, and she wanted it so badly. For years they had this unspoken agreement, for years Monica had pushed aside her feelings because that's just how it was. That's how it always would be.

It was painfully and wonderfully unrequited at the same time.

Monica's eyelids fell closed softly, and she couldn't tell if it was just a warm raindrop or a tear that trickled down her cheek. Bringing up old feelings and memories was never a smart thing to do in her case.

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	4. Haven't got room for the pain

**Notes **: EEEeeeeEEEeee!! :D Thanks_ so_ much to everyone who reviewed! You guys are seriously too damn awesome. It really encourages/inspires/thrills me, and makes me ever so happy! I'm so glad people out there are liking it so far!

So, what else...oh yes, I wrote a little drabble awhile ago dealing with the effects (affects?) that Luke's death had on Monica and John, but I think it's an amazing aspect of their relationship and I sort of wanted to write it out further. So, it may be slightly similar to my drabble, if any of you have read it. So yep, thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this one! :)

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**2:21 AM**

John shivered slightly underneath the shelter of the Willow's swaying leaves. The wind had kicked up slightly with the rain, and now he was wet _and_ cold.

He picked up his jacket and shrugged it on, though it too was icy and damp and it didn't help his situation much.

Still shivering, he sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk once again. He had been thinking about himself and Monica, the future of the X-Files now that Mulder and Scully had gone away.

Were they still in danger? Was it all over? They hadn't had word from them in months.

John looked across the park at Monica. Her hair was soaking wet and the little droplets of water at the tips fell and spashed onto the ground as the locks fell about her face. He half-smiled, nodding to no one in particular.

If it was all over, the X-Files would be shut down for good. Did he want that? No. But why?

He had seen too much. But anything he_ truly_ believed in? No.

So why, then?

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them he found himself looking over at his partner again.

Was it Monica that made him want to stay on the X-Files?

For a few slow moments all of his thoughts halted; the only distraction was the rainfall in his ears and the steady beat of his heart in his head.

...Maybe. Yes. A big part of it. They shared a past. A torn, painful past, but a past that connected them together in a way he couldn't explain.

She had_ been_ there for him. Had helped him. Had tried her best. She couldn't have done anything to prevent it. _He_ couldn't have done anything to prevent it.

Though he had accepted Luke's death, had come to terms with the fact that his killer was dead, and that it was a closed chapter in the book of his life, he couldn't help that his heart and soul had never fully recovered. This, he guessed, was why he had never let Monica in, never let her cross those boundaries. It was too painful.

He let his mind drift back to when they first met... Those long days full of false hope, false comfort, but a mutual understanding, a connection, that lead up to the day his world fell apart.

He had walked slowly up to her that morning, mind flashing in static of pleas, hopes, longings, anything to make those next words to come out of her mouth the ones he had been praying to hear...

But her eyes were bright with tears, and her face was shaded with regret and loss. Those deep brown eyes did not evade his, but were scarred heavily with the thought that she had failed him. She had failed herself. This was not supposed to happen. And no words were uttered from her lips.

For a fleeting moment he felt hot anger rise inside his chest at the way she was looking at him-- how could she pretend she was hurt by this as badly as he was? For another fleeting moment he felt sure he would lunge at her, scream at her...and then he realized this, what he was feeling. Anger, yes-- but heartbreak, shock, hate, rage-- but at himself. In a flash he was hit with all of these tormenting emotions at once, and he sobbed out loud, burrying his head into her offered shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." was all she muttered, tears streaming down her face, hands moving over his which were desperately pulling at her jacket, begging to wake up from this, from the shock of this sudden burden that would haunt him forever.

Another day passed, and they said goodbye. It was over, nothing more do to or to say.

Monica was transferred to New Orleans, and they only spoke every so often. Occasional phonecalls when news of a step up the ladder or brilliant-solving-of-case rumors swept the bureau.

A visit right around the time he and Barbara seperated-- she had pulled a few strings, and the official reason she had flown into town last minute was to help the local PD with identifying patterns in a few cult murders along the coast.

She had then dropped everything for him again a year ago when he had called and asked a favor for his current partner of the new unit he had been assigned to. She was happy to comply; they had a trust built up over the years, a respect. They were there for each other though they rarely saw one another.

Now assigned to the X-Files as partners, working cases together again, cases that were so darastically different from their first, things had changed considerably between them. They became closer, their past and the prospect of their present and future clashed in a way that was exciting, that was intimate, comfortable.

"John?"

John's head snapped around, these memories and thoughts tumbling out and away from his mind like a house of playing cards.

Monica had a weak, sheepish smile on her face as if to say that for once, this one time, it had been his mind caught wandering.

He smiled back slightly, eyes still unfocused and looking down at the grass. Monica lowered herself onto one knee beside him, and sighed, looking out at the rain that had now turned into a light drizzle.

"What...are you thinking about?" She asked softly.

John let out a gentle self-deprecating chuckle and shook his head. "Nothing that I can change now."

Monica flicked her eyes over to rest on his face thoughtfully. Her fingers sifted through the wet grass distractedly, tearing up a blade or two every now and then, letting it flutter back down to the ground only to repeat the process all over again.

"I was thinking too."

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment John felt a pang of adoration staring into his partner's sympathetic brown eyes, those same eyes that he had stared into for comfort and validation when Luke had been killed, when he and Barbara had split, when so many things in his life had been trainwrecked and she had been the only one there for him. A small smile spread over his face and his hand came up to bat a lock of wet hair away from her face.

A warm, sad smile melted over Monica's lips in return, and a thin, hardly noticeable sheen of tears coated her dark eyes.

She blinked, resisting the urge to press John's hand closer to her cheek.

"So where's this place you were takin' me to?"

Monica laughed quietly and stood up, brushing water droplets and grass from her black pants. Offering John a hand up, she replied, "You'll see."

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	5. Burning questions

**Notes : **Yiikes, it's been awhile since I've updated! The truth is I haven't had much time to work on the story, though I _desperately_ want to. I managed to get a little more finished, and this is part of that. I've still got some work to do on the other half...plus the rest! :)

Thank you thank you THANK YOU again to all who reviewed...seriously, you guys are the coolest people in the world. I LOVE you! :: hands you all giftbaskets with wonderful sparkly fluffy surprises inside. ::

Please let me know what you think about this little bit, any thoughts would be wonderful.

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2:31 AM

Walking again down the wet streets of DC, Monica and John's footsteps make a gentle tapping noise against the cement, and every now and then Monica will walk, purposely, head-on into a large puddle, silently laughing as the water splatters up against the thin, dark material of her pants and seeps cold water on to the skin of her legs. She laughs with even more of that bright smile when the water droplets latch onto John's face or jeans. John just raises an eyebrow over at her, a laugh wanting so badly to be let out, but instead a sly grin taking its place.

She looked so exhilarated, so undeniably joyful. He wondered what made her this way, what made her _stay_ this way over the years. Always so positive, he thought. Always seeing the best in anyone or anything she set her beautiful dark eyes on. It was one of the most incredible things he had come to witness in all his years, just the effortless energy and hope this woman radiated in a world full of everything just the opposite.

He had to take a chance to ask this burning question, this question whose answer could be the key to all that was wrong in his life, in case he never got another chance as perfect as this one.

"How do you do it?" He asked quietly, staring straight ahead.

"Do...what, John?"

"Be so goddamned _happy_." A smile cracked on his face, and she immediately returned it.

"I don't know." She said simply, almost as if she herself were still trying to figure it out. "But," she began again after a moment, "I do know that there's something..." she paused, opening her mouth slightly and biting on her lower lip, looking almost as if she were tasting the very air between them with all of her senses, "...special about tonight. I can feel it vibrating through the air."

Another buzz was pulsing through John's head now at these words, a question he wanted to ask so badly that the sentence was out of his mouth before he had a chance to even think about it.

"What does it feel like?"

Monica's head turned towards him quickly, that smile mixed with a slight confusion. John had never asked her anything so...openly before.

She opened her mouth to answer, not even sure of what she might say, when they had turned the corner and the gentle but distant sound of a lone guitar strumming filled the air.

Monica's eyes lit up once again and she looked out and down the street to where it seemed some sort of midnight marketplace was set all up and down the sidewalks. She looked back over at John, flashed a smile, said "I'll show you someday," and took off at a jog towards the soft yellow lights at the end of the street.

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	6. We can just run away, run away tonight

**Notes :** Wow, haven't updated in awhile. Hopefully there are still some people interested out there. Anyway, this chapter is really where my love for Monica's Mexican culture comes in. :) And wow, I tried my best to get this down as accurately as a girl with four years of Spanish under her belt and a strange obession with the culture could, but I'm sure some experienced people out there can spot mistakes. Don't yell at me, I tried my best! Haha. But one of my good friends is from Mexico, however, and he's wonderfully patient with me so I was able to get a lot of information from him. Yesssss...so enjoy, hopefully, and do tell me what you think!

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**2:35 am**

Monica ran her finger along the ripe skin of a violently orange tangerine that sat in a bundle with the others of its sort, in a basket surrounded by dozens of fellow baskets containing various fruits, all as vibrant as this tangerine in their colors.

A man with dark skin and dark but gentle eyes sat strumming odd notes on an old guitar at the side of the street. A Hispanic couple sat at one of the many cafe styled tables lining the narrow street. They were older, but as Monica looked at them, she could tell that the woman was just as beautiful as she had been when she was twenty-five, and that the man was handsome with green eyes that gazed and smiled at the woman as he held her hand upon the tabletop.

The street was strung with soft golden fairy lights that twinkled like stars beneath the black velvety sky, making anything its incandescence fell upon seem a rich carameled color, including Monica's skin as she picked up a fiercely green pepper from one of the woven baskets, popping it between her teeth while she fiddled in her pockets for some money.

Another dark skinned, kind looking man sat on a stool off to the left of all the street side baskets and crates, and smiled at Monica as she approached.

"Is this all?" He said in broken English, pointing to the vegetable now in her hand.

"Si...pero yo hablo espanol, no es necessario englis." She smiled as she informed him that she did indeed speak Spanish and that English was not needed. Brining the green pepper to her mouth she broke off a bit with her teeth, thinking vaguely about how wonderful it felt to speak her language aloud to someone who could actually understand it after so long. "Muchas gracias."

The man's smile widened slightly and he laughed, taking the money from her. "OK... Bien, muy bien, senorita...y de nada."

Monica noticed that both Mexican and American currency filled his small basket of coins and paper notes as he cautiously handed her three quarters back.

At that moment Monica felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned around quickly.

"John." She smiled, and nodded at the man to which he nodded back and thanked her once again.

Taking a few steps away and staring back down the street as she stuffed the quarters into her back pocket, Monica turned and leaned up against the brick wall of the nearest building, crunching on the spicy vegetable as her mouth continued its upward descent into a smile.

"So." John stared at her with that not-quite-smiling-but-amused-nonetheless look he did so well. She stared back with wide brown eyes. There was a silence, and Monica laughed softly.

"So this is what I wanted to show you. It's more than it seems at first glance."

" 'Looks like a gathering place for insomniacs."

Monica laughed and shook her head, eyes squinting in thought. "No John...you have to see it from my point of view. When I first visited DC years and years ago I heard about this place. It's what you might call an equivalent to a farmer's market in any other city, though instead of it being painstakingly early in the morning it's more conveniently run through dusk to dawn. I mean, how perfect is that for people who come from these countries where night is worshipped and sleep is considered a luxury?"

This provoked a laugh from John, another grin from Monica as she took a further bite of her pepper. "It's actually traditionally held San Diego County in California, in a couple different cities a year, all right on or close to the Mexican border. It stemmed out into other major cities in the US for the minority of Hispanics in the nineties. I used to go every month down in New Orleans; it's the only way to get decent Mexican goods in the states. They actually ship this stuff straight from all over Latin America, Mexico, even Spain."

John quirked an eyebrow as he listened to Monica, eyes wandering up and down the narrow street now, truly taking in all of the scenery for the first time. The lights above, below and all around them twinkled slightly mysteriously; the crates and stands full of all kinds of colorful goods spread messily but artfully along the sidewalks, the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and almost too-ripe fruit mixing with the fresh rain and heat that was radiating off the old sidewalks. Bundles of roses-- burnt orange fused at the tips with crimson and gold, ashen white, and a beautiful and strange mixture of all these colors sat at least every three feet down the sidewalk, some were tied to the lampposts and doorways in a festive manner while other bundles of lilies and cactus flowers were scattered, dusted and peppered anywhere from the tabletops of the cafes to the very stone sidewalk they stood on. To top it all off was the gentle but intense guitar notes that wafted through the air and into his ears from the instrument the man a little ways down the walkway had sitting in his lap, fingers flittering up and down it like a small army of butterflies.

It was all very south-of-the-border, indeed. It was pleasant, a small secluded world where one could disappear into the heat and romance of a culture and life quite unlike their own.

"So...why's this place dressed up so fancy anyway?" John asked after his eyes had come full circle to rest on Monica again, still snacking on her pepper.

"Well it's in our culture to be a little extravagant, but there are plenty of celebrations in the month of July they may be setting up for. Lunes Del Cerro which is sort of a Indian ceremony that comes around every year in Mexico for example...St. James day. We're always celebrating something." She shrugged, and smiled.

John nodded and let that suspiciously sly smile show on his face, glancing around again. There was a silence and he squinted over at her. "You eat that raw?"

"Sure."

"Looks like a Jalapeño."

"It is."

John stared, raising an eyebrow. "And you can handle it?"

Monica looked slightly startled and let out a barking laugh. "Oh sure, I grew up with these things. ...But I bet you couldn't."

"Oh yeah?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"Try me."

She shook her head in amusement and held out the remaining half of the pepper, which was still quite a large portion. "Go right ahead, John."

He took the pepper by the stem between his thumb and index finger and with a flick of his wrist popped it into his mouth whole, watching Monica all the time. He raised both eyebrows and smiled over at her as he began to chew it, holding out his hands in a self-congratulatory manner.

"Great John, great. You're a real tough guy." She began to roll her eyes and at that moment John couldn't take this pretending anymore and let out a loud cough, his eyes beginning to water.

"Damn..." he muttered, laughing slightly, sucking in the air around him rapidly. Monica was doubled over with silent laughter.

"No need to show off for me, John...I know, and apparently you do too now, you don't want to mess with home grown Jalapeño peppers...c'mon," she laughed again, grabbing his hand and leading him off towards the cafe tables at the end of the street, "let me buy you a drink."

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	7. Sweet surrender

**Notes : **Hmmmmm! It's been awhile. The same stuff I said for the last chapter basically applies here. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. Thanks for reviewing, you guys, and I hope you enjoy this one. ;)

EDIT: I was actually writting about Sangria before I had even tried it. At New Year's we got a couple bottles...and it's good! I'd reccomend it.

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**2:50 AM**

"This ought to help," Monica announced as in one swift, liquid movement she swept her hands down into a bucket filled with ice, produced two glass bottles, tossed one to John and sunk into a wire chair beside one of the tables.

"Thanks..." John said uncertainly, eyeing the liquid that was lurking around inside the glass as he tipped it up and down, like a lavalamp. " 'Sangria.' " He read off the label. "Blood?"

Monica smiled. "Cheers." She held the bottle up to him and took a sip. When she looked back and saw the confused look on John's face, she laughed and set the bottle down. "Just try it, John. It's just a carbonated drink with lots of sugar. We'd go through four cases of this a week when we were kids."

Sitting down, John still eyed Monica suspiciously as he had been for most of this last half hour. Ever since he had set foot onto this street, it seemed as if he had stumbled into some strange and unknown land. Monica appeared to him as some foreign gypsy flouncing about, teaching him of all these new and strange things as if they were both stuck in some eccentric fairytale.

"Eh. Not bad." John shrugged, lowering the bottle from his lips.

"Told you. You trust me with your life -- half the time we're in the field I have a gun that with a simple ten degree rotation could be aimed at your head -- and yet you don't even trust me with a bottle of soda."

"Oh, I trust you, Mon. I trust you." He smiled, paused, and then leaned across the table and clinked the necks of their bottles together.

Monica smiled slowly and breathed in, her eyes sparkling contentedly. She sat back and casually dropped her gaze onto the guitarist, who was still playing at the next table over. She closed her eyes briefly. Flashbacks of her father playing in that same slow way, of long nights and of laughter. It was not so much that she wanted these memories to flood over her again, but more as if she cleared her mind and let them decide for themselves if they'd like to or not.

**2: 57 AM**

Monica's eyes watched the man's fingers dance a slow tango up and down the neck of the accoustic instrument, the music it made filling her ears and making her feel nostalgic in a way that hurt like loneliness, but also made her feel such a strange sort of joy that she was sure she hadn't felt anything like it since she was a small child. For these few moments as she listened and closed her eyes, felt the light breeze that always blew after a rainfall graze her skin, she felt so free and happy even when she knew in her heart that life was always full of sorrow.

The man with the guitar was in such a trance, much like Monica's, that it was still a full minute or two before he realized that he had an audience. He slowly smiled at Monica as he looked at her, clearly very taken. He then noticed John staring at him, and laughed gently.

"I am sorry. You are very lucky man. It is a beautiful woman you've got." He said, and for a moment it seemed as if one of the two would correct him, but there was only silence. John stole a glance to Monica, and saw that she had a faint smile upon her lips as she continued to wach the man, who had just begun to softly sing a song in his native tongue.

John watched her carefully, his skeptical blue eyes working again. Those eyes had solved a thousand puzzles in their lifetime, but as usual could not figure out this beautiful mystery that sat in the chair beside him. Suddenly for the first time, he realized maybe it was better that way.

Leaning up slightly, John reached out across the tabletop and brushed a flower petal off of Monica's hand as it sat beside her empty bottle of Sangria. He was still watching her as he did this. His curiosity had gotten the better of him and he fought off the familiar urge to evade her dark, knowing eyes.

Monica did nothing but move her hand slightly (was it towards or away from him?), but John noticed that the rise and fall of her chest broke the steady pattern and quickened for a brief moment. He couldn't help but smile.

"What's he saying?" He asked softly.

"I thought you spoke some Spanish, John." She hadn't looked at him yet.

"I'd rather hear it from you."

Her brown eyes finally met his once again, and he was hit with a strong idea now why she had been evading his gaze. Even Monica's vulnerability had a point where it became so much more than that, and he could see this in her eyes as she looked at him then. With this one look he suddenly felt like he hadn't in years; the way he felt when Barbara kissed him, when she told him that she loved him. Maybe it was the fact that he could feel that lingering fear he always felt towards Monica begin to melt away like ice, but he couldn't believe he hadn't felt this before.

"Hey John." She suddenly smiled. "Do you want to learn how to salsa?"

**3: 11 AM**

"If you're going to do this, you've got to loosen up, John. I don't see why you'd go around with a tie on on aFriday night in the first place." Monica grinned and reached over to take a hold of his shirt first with one hand, and then after pulling him closer, with the other began to unfold his already loosened tie.

Her eyes focused mostly on her fingers slipping through the soft material, but every few seconds she looked up to him. She was smiling in that way that made her whole face light up.

Suddenly she took his hand in hers and placed it on her lower hip. With the other she took his and held it in hers, keeping them both in the air a little above waist-level.

"Position one." She smiled sarcastically and laughed.

She began rocking her hips to the guitar music, counting one -- she moved one foot forward and danced a little, two -- she moved it back, three -- she moved the other foot forward and danced a little, four -- she moved it back. "And you do the same. When I move this foot in," she motioned to her right foot, "you move that one in." She nudged his right leg with hers, and demonstrated again.

John felt her hip muscles tense with each step. He looked up from the ground into her face, watching her eyes follow in concentration until they met his every few steps. When they did this they softened, and her smile grew. He began to think about all the people who had never seen this woman smile, and what they were missing out on.

If on the outside Monica looked calm, on the inside she was on fire. She had never been this close to John before, and she didn't want to screw it up by being her usual goofball self. Her skin rose with heat where his hands touched it, and she couldn't think straight. She finally had to bite down on her lip hard, trying to concentrate on teaching John the steps, something concrete that she knew a great deal about and could concentrate on instead of her raging emotions.

"Alright John. This is better as a partner dance. I can't do it alone. You're going to have to move a little."

He sighed and laughed.

"I can't move like you can, Monica."

"Why not? Just give it a try."

He shook his head, beginning to attempt to move as she had.

"Yet again. I can't believe I'm letting you do this."

"No, no, John. More movement."

"Like this?"

"Better... Try more of a circular motion."

"...This better?"

She let out a laugh.

"Come on, John! It's not that hard, you can easily-- oh God, now that's just horrible." She laughed, putting her head in her hands, and then without thinking she reached out to instruct his movements with her hands. "More movement! Show me how you made your kid," she laughed, and then almost immidiatley regretted it. She looked up to him ready to appologize, ready to slap herself for saying something so blatantly stupid, but stopped when she saw that he was laughing even harder than he had been a moment ago. As a wave of relief passed over her, he said, "Are you sure you wanna see that?"

After a few more minutes of stepping on each other's feet, they had a steady movement going on and Monica was smiling in accomplishment.

"Perfect." She purred, finally taking her eyes off of his feet.

He shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. Back, forward, switch, back, forward, switch...the music kept up to their movement and Monica laughed softly when John accidentally skipped a beat and almost stepped on her foot.

"Sorry," he whispered with a small laugh. He paused, and then, "You know even with the X-Files... I don't think I've ever seen you more in your element than you are right now, Monica."

She smiled. "It's second nature. It's built in. It doesn't count."

"It counts." He said. "You're..." And trailed off, even the smile he gave her then not enough to mask the seriousness in his voice.

Monica's own smile faded slightly into something much deeper and she felt herself becoming lost in his eyes again.

Gradually they both slowed the dance, and even slower and more tenative still they moved closer together and wrapped their arms around each other. Not tightly, but a loose embrace that worked perfectly when John began to lead in a slower step.

"Now this I can do." He whispered, his voice lulling Monica into a state of such adoration that she felt completely safe and content to stay in his arms forever. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and rested her head there. She closed her eyes and wondered where, in the last thirty seconds, she had lost her apprehensiveness that he would push her away, and the ability to see things logically.

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	8. Nowhere and everywhere

**Notes : **None, really, 'cept it's been a damn long time since I updated. P Sorry about that. Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy, and I'm working on the next chapter as we speak. :) Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to read and reviewmy silly little stories.

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3:25 AM

Time passed in slow moments and Monica swayed gently to the calmness in her mind. She felt a light, warm breeze brush her skin. She heard the guitar's vibrating notes suspend and make soft waves in the clear, moist air. And she felt John's arms around her. The comfort, the gentle happiness she found in this was wrapping itself around her the way water can wrap itself around you in a hot bath. It was conforming, it felt wonderful and relaxing.

She wasn't entirely sure how long they had been swaying like this, but it had hardly felt like any time at all when the guitar music stopped suddenly, and Monica slowly opened her eyes, blinking as if she had been sleeping for an eternity.

She glanced at the man and he smiled, holding up a weak hand.

"I'm sorry. My hands...little tired," he laughed.

She smiled. "No, no, es totalmente multa. Ningunas preocupaciones."

The man smiled back, and Monica suddenly looked deeply at him.

"...Què es tu nombre?" she asked.

"Paz."

"Paz. Ah, tranquilidad, no?" She smiled. "Gracias, Paz. Usted toca hermosamente." She said softly, still smiling.

She turned back to John. "Wanna go?"

**3:36 AM**

They were walking back down the cobbled streets again into the silent night air. Monica had grabbed some sort of fruit that John didn't exactly recognize before they left, and given everyone there a warm smile and a thank you. John had gathered up his recollection of the language and puched out a few thanks as well. They had seemed pretty impressed, and so had Monica.

One of the guys back there had given her a beautiful rose as they departed, the kind whose petals are golden and fused with red at the tips. She now twirled it in her right hand as they walked, the other grasping the mysterious fruit as she bit into it periodically.

It was silent for awhile as they ambled in no direction in particular.

"Hold this a minute for me, John," she said suddenly, thrusting the fiery rose into his hands.

She clamped her teeth into the skin of the fruit and pulled her sweater over her head with both hands, consequently lifting the bottom of the shirt underneath upwards an inch or two.

John grinned and glanced away as he noticed where his eyes were resting.

When he looked back she had the sweater tied loosely around her waist and was busy working on the fruit again. A bit of it stuck to the side of her chin without her knowledge.

John chuckled softly. Monica caught this and looked over, smiling suspiciously, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "What?" she asked obliviously.

"Nothin'," John laughed. "It's nothin'. So where we goin' now? A renassaince fair maybe?"

She grinned. "Maybe. Where do you want to go?"

He surprised himself when he reflexively thought "home", and rejected the idea immidiately.

"'Dunno. Anywhere."

"Hmmm..." Monica mumbled through a mouthful of her snack.

"To the moon?" She said finally, smiling, her eyes sparkling again.

**3:48 AM**

In the distance another park came into view. This one had not only a set of swings but a whole jungle gym complete with plastic slides and monkey bars in various bright and clashing colors.

Monica began to walk towards it. "Just look at this, John. An empty playground. It seems so wrong. Shouldn't we pay it a visit? Better the community?"

Only with her, he thought, would he be in downtown Washington D.C. taking an active tour of children's playgrounds, attending early-morning fiestas, and rehashing his childhood.

Monica jogged over and swung herself up onto the platform beside the monkey bars. John thought for a moment she might attempt to cross them and began to laugh a little, but she didn't. She instead hoisted herself ontop of the bars and sat down, her feet dangling.

"How d'you manage all these dangerous feats of physical strength and bravado in _those_?" John called, nodding at her high-heeled leather boots, voicing for the first time something he had pondered about more often than he'd ever admit to anyone.

She laughed. "That, my darling partner, is an age-old secret passed down from generation to generation of F.B.I women. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

He shook his head amused, and walked over beside the bars. He glanced up at her.

"Come on up." She said, patting the length of metal bar beside her as if it was warm and inviting and not at all unusual to be perched atop a play construction such like this.

John glanced around, tossing Monica's rose back up to her with a quick "hold this" and grabbed the bars above him with each hand. He pulled himself up and, arm muscles tight, swung his legs across once he had enough room.

"John Doggett. Always doing things the hard way." Monica said, though she never ceased to be impressed each time he did something like that. The thing that she loved most was the fact that he never did any of it to show off. He simply did it because he could. No big deal.

"Yeah." He breathed out slowly, now sitting beside her. "Still got somma' that army training left in me."

She smiled and looked out across the air. "Isn't it weird how small and inconsequential these places look now? I mean when I was a kid playgrounds were just...these huge, magical places."

"I guess when you grow up you gain perspective in a lot more ways than one."

"You also loose it."

She smiled gently, and there was a pause.

"So tell me, John."

"Tell you what?"

"Everything. You. I've been worried about you."

John glanced over to her, watching her twist that rose softy between her fingers. "I've been worried about _you_."

She looked away and then back. "I'm fine. Just...worried about, you know, what will happen next."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Me too."

"But I wasn't talking about the X-Files, John."

"I know."

"So?"

Silence.

"John?"

He looked at her.

"Have you talked to Barbara since that day?"

"Yeah. Once. Called to see how she was doin'."

"And?"

"She's all right. She's good. She let it go, on her way to healin'."

A gentle pause as her eyes searched his turned face. "And you?"

It was quiet again. She touched his arm now after a moment or two.

"I'm okay. Really, Mon."

She paused, hand flittering down to take his in hers.

"Okay." She said, closing the subject. She knew he meant what he said. He just needed time to heal, like Barbara. And when he did, it would be over, and those demons she saw in his eyes so many times since the day she met him would dissappear. She hoped this with all of her being.

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End file.
